The sunchild does not dance alone; early morning breezes hail a handsome earthen dragon she does not recognize, and with a cry of excitement, the girl bounces towards him, eyes bright with the prospect of having company. "Zaffre would like you," she coos, bounding toward Kiba; they whirl and tumble together, like long-lost friends, until the soft voice of this dragon's bonded rings out over the stone like the soft sigh of the nearby sea. Ears alert, the filly flicks her head coyly toward him, the half-grown antler on her forehead glimmering slightly in the muggy dawn. She studies him with eyes wide with wonder: light gathers and congeals around his graceful form in great swaths of gold and yellow, sliding off his hair in pearl-white. Israfel pauses in her movement, awe spreading like impending day on her face; is this what father looks like? A gold-clothed god, radiant and beautiful? A wide smile expands slowly on her delicate pink lips, threatening to crack her face in half. She knows the palomino cannot be her sire, for mother describes the god as perpetually flame-robed, with eyes like magnificent twin-suns and wings that block out the sky when extended, but the little demigoddess could not help but be instantly fond of this gentleman, swathed in honey and pearl, and decides to greet him thusly. Still grinning, always grinning, the pale girl inclines her head politely, eyes flicking momentarily towards the Brown in an exchange of glances like partners in crime, before turning to the paint. "Hello!" she calls brightly, as if addressing a close friend, "What's your name?" Sunshine filters blissfully through the fog, happy to be in the company of such mirthful children of the sun. Today will be a nice day, she thinks, gazing at the tall stallion with wide, wonderful eyes; she can feel it.
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